Tag Archives: Hope Madden

Coven in the Woods

Camp

by Hope Madden

A sapphic coming-of-age summer camp horror, those words are not untrue. They are inaccurate. Whatever expectations you may have coming into writer/director Avalon Fast’s Camp, they’re wrong. Which is not necessarily bad.

Prizing atmosphere over genre, Fast’s loose narrative and structure benefit the floating grief that keeps Emily (Zola Grimmer) only partly present in any situation. It’s rooted in an adolescent tragedy and exacerbated by an incident in her early twenties. She’s disconnected, vacant, and her concerned father suggests she take a counselor position at a summer camp for troubled kids.

But Fast clarifies from Camp’s opening sequence that this is not going to be a slasher. Even when Emily falls in with a close-knit group of likewise disaffected young women—her own coven, if you will—the filmmaker shrugs off any comfortable comparison. The Craft? Practical Magic?

No, grief, guilt, shame, and the disconcertingly untethered existence of modern young adulthood don’t fit so neatly into a single box. Fast wanderingly explores ideas connected with nature and female camaraderie, with acceptance and rejection, with the search for peace. But a typical witch film this is not.

In a little attic space above a cabin in a Christian Youth Camp, five damaged young women cling to each other. They bond, drink, hallucinate, cast spells, make sacrifices, and feel comfort. But unlike The Craft, which condemned a dark use of the feminine power of nature, Camp is nonjudgmental.

Instead, Fast is interested in these broken young women and their hazy search for something to make them feel whole. The pace is slow, the imagery hypnotic, occasionally surreal. The film aches. It mourns. It embraces a vivid if ill-defined reality in which there is no clear path to happiness or wholeness.

Self-discovery is the key, and Emily’s is all melancholy magic. Cinematographer Eily Sprugman captures Emily’s heady freedom and earthy nightmare with gorgeous color. Fast’s languid pace, though sometimes tiresome, mainly delivers a groggy magic that feels like a dark dream.

Grimmer’s naturalistic performance grounds the wonder with honesty and heartbreak. There’s a real sadness at the heart of Camp that, along with an intriguingly messy morality, will keep you thinking about it long after it’s over.

Fright Club: Parenting Disasters in Horror

There are loads of bad parents in horror. Jack Torrence is no doll. Margaret White’s a bit much. In bad parent horror, we empathize with the offspring. But there’s something perhaps more unsettling when you empathize with the parents who are genuinely trying but something—sometimes just one bad decision—ends in unspeakable disaster. It’s those dumbasses that we salute today!

And thanks again to FeedSpot for including us on their latest list of Best Horror Podcasts! FeedSpot is an RSS Reader that lets you follow your favorite podcasts alongside blogs and news in one place. https://podcast.feedspot.com/midwest_horror_podcasts/

5. Splice (2009)

This creature feature Frankenstein mad science mash up goes places you may not expect. Director Vincenzo Natali (Cube) investigates science as commerce, the maternal instinct or lack thereof, sexual politics, nature and nurture and more in this body horror.

The wtf! of it all works because of the undeniable talent of its leads, Sarah Polley and Adrien Brody. What they’re doing in this is hard to know, but they elevate a B-horror script to something weirdly compelling. Polley’s big eyed, emotionless performance offers a fascinating conundrum that makes every wild turn make sense. Sort of.

4. Antichrist (2009)

Lars von Trier’s foray into horror follows a couple down a deep and dark rabbit hole of grief. Von Trier’s films have often fixated on punishing viewers and female protagonists alike, but in this film the nameless woman (played fearlessly by Charlotte Gainsbourg) wields most of the punishment – whether upon her mate (Willem Dafoe) or herself.

Consumed by grief, a mother allows her husband—also grieving—to become her psychotherapist as they retreat to their isolated cabin deep in the woods where they will try to overcome the horror of losing their only child.

They won’t succeed.

3. Speak No Evil (2022)

Christian Tafdrup’s Speak No Evil, a terribly polite tale of Danes and Dutchmen that veers slowly but relentlessly toward something sinister. Speak No Evil quickly becomes a sociological experiment that questions our tendency to act against our own instincts, side with the cool kids, and lose who we are.

Tafdrup’s script, co-written with Mads Tafdrup, is sneaky in the way it treads on social anxiety, etiquette, politeness. You see how easily gaslighting alters the trajectory of a conversation, the course of action. Speak No Evil is a grim trip, but there is no question that it’s well made.

2. Mother! (2017)

Between writer/director Darren Aronofsky’s disorienting camera and his cast’s impeccable performances, he ratchets up tension in a way that is beyond uncomfortable. This is all clearly leading somewhere very wrong and the film develops the atmosphere of a nightmare quickly, descending further and further with each scene.

Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem, Ed Harris and Michelle Pfieffer are indescribably brilliant. Like most of the filmmaker’s work, mother! will not be for everyone. But if you’re up for an allegorical descent into hell, meticulously crafted and deftly told, and if you like your metaphors heavy and your climaxes absurd, this mother! is for you.

1. Coffee Table (2022)

On Shudder, Prime, Tubi, AMC+

A remarkably well written script fleshed out by a stunning ensemble becomes utter torture as you want so badly for some other outcome. Co-writer/director Caye Casas ties threads, builds anxiety, plunges the depths of “what’s the worst that could happen?” and leaves you shaken.

David Pareja and Estefania de los Santos craft indelible, believable, beautifully flawed characters so convincing that their experience becomes painful for you. Casas salts the wounds with dark comedy, but the tenderness and tragedy collaborate toward something far more crushingly human.

Running to Stand Still

Find Your Friends

by Hope Madden

I love Shudder. Truth is, Shudder is the only station I know how to find on our TV. I mean it. How I look forward to each new Shudder original! Happily, most of them live up to the excitement.

But every once in a while, you get a Find Your Friends.

Five unreasonably attractive and clearly alcoholic twentysomething besties wreak havoc on their livers and look good doing it. And screw the a’holes at this yacht party because these party bitches are headed to Joshua Tree to a better party followed by some desert tripping. Hell yeah!

I rarely stop watching a movie once I start it because it’s my job to finish the movie. I had to remind myself of this during Find Your Friends no fewer than four times before we even got to Joshua Tree.

We spend time with Amber (Helena Howard), Lavinia (Bella Thorne), Zosia (Zión Moreno), Lola (Chloe Cherry), and Maddy (Sophia Ali) twerking, doing shots, slapping each other’s asses, taking Molly, smoking joints, taking ‘shrooms, more shots, making out with strangers, driving wasted, saying “pussy” hundreds of times, talking incessantly about dick, and living as if we don’t exist in a country where you get away with rape but go to prison for defending yourself.

But that’s sort of writer/director Izabel Pakzad’s point, I suppose. That humans aggressively oblivious to their own safety still deserve safety, which is true. And that young women are often so frequently coerced and misused that they bond over it, joke about it, numb themselves to it. Also valid.

And that no women live in Joshua Tree at all. Only pick-up truck driving rapists and rifle carrying misogynists. This seems less accurate.

The heavy handedness of the film’s story and the one-dimensionality of its characters make it hard for Pakzad to build any momentum. There really is a story of female rage swimming beneath the sea of alcohol, but the story is so slight and the film so long and the climax so abrupt and the final shot so unearned that the message is tough to get behind.

Stop and Be Friendly

Disclosure Day

by Hope Madden

For about fifty years, Steven Spielberg has been indulging his wonder. By sheer force of will and undeniable talent, the filmmaker turned the direction of Hollywood’s alien fascination, not from “they’re coming to get us” to “maybe they love us.” But he pushed hard enough, beguiled intensely enough, to create that space.

He isn’t done. Disclosure Day returns our eyes to the skies and asks us to examine why our natural inclination is to believe the worst in each other and blame the “other” for it.

Josh O’Connor is Daniel Kellner, math nerd (you knew there’d be a nerd). He’s employed by Wardex, an intelligence and security paramilitary firm that works alongside, not for, the US government. But Spielberg, working from a script by longtime collaborator David Koepp (Jurassic Park, War of the Worlds) for which he gets story credit, wastes no time on this set up. From the opening smackdown, we are on the run with Daniel and girlfriend Jane (Eve Hewson) from Wardex and its head, Scanlon (Colin Firth).

Cut to the charmingly unserious Kansas City meteorologist, Margaret Fairchild (Emily Blunt). Quite suddenly, over the objections of Margaret’s equally unserious boyfriend (Wyatt Russell), she’s on a collision course with Daniel while Scanlon’s high tech, black clad operatives use all intel on hand to close in.

The shot making is Spielberg at his most reflectively, thrillingly Spielbergian. Disorienting, gorgeous, and often recalling his own work in nod after ingenious nod. Plus, John Williams came out of retirement, pairing music to scene to reliably engrossing effect.

Colman Domingo offers his support as the father figure whose let wonder and optimism override knee jerk fear and cynicism.

Everybody’s great, Blunt in particular. And there’s a lovely sentiment fueling the tale as Spielberg uses his familiar themes to point to the weaponization of religion and society’s bottomed-out belief in humanity.

But the world is not the same place it was when Richard Dreyfuss wasted a good plate of mashed potatoes. As well made and engaging as Disclosure Day is, the third act reveals what the first two suggested. For a comment on the state of the world, or an extra-terrestrial thriller, the film’s sweet, quaint, and somewhat irrelevant.

A few questionable details would be easier to overlook thanks to the film’s admirable momentum had it all led somewhere less telegraphed and less wide-eyed.

Screening Room: Masters of the Universe, Power Ballad, Office Romance & More

On this week’s Screening Room podcast, Hope & George review Masters of the Universe, Power Ballad, Carolina Caroline, Office Romance, Scary Movie, Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror, Chum, and Seven Snipers!

Master and Servant

Masters of the Universe

by Hope Madden

Mattel, the company behind Greta Gerwig’s brilliant blockbuster Barbie, follows that unprecedented success by backing another woman centered feature driven by an Oscar worthy screenplay and helmed by a genius female filmmaker.

JK. They’re just making another toy movie.

Mattel welcomes you to Pride month with the return of their second pinkest toy. Bulging hero He Man (Nicholas Galitzine), saucy villain Skeletor (Jared Leto), and scrappy helpers including Ram Man (Jon Xue Zhang) and Fisto (Jóhannes Haukur Jóhannesson), unite for a semi-campy Masters of the Universe origin story.

Director Travis Knight, who somehow carved one worthwhile film out of the Transformers franchise (Bumblebee), is tapped to try to Gerwig-up this afternoon 80s staple. The filmmaker’s been nominated three times for Oscars, all for producing truly exceptional animated films. He works here with a team of writers (Chris Butler, Aaron Nee, Adam Nee), collaborators all on other great animated features. It’s not Gerwig and Baumbach, but it’s an impressive pedigree for Masters of the Universe.

The cast off the top impresses. Galitzine, so spot-on in both Bottoms and 100 Nights of Hero, charms as the bumbling prince returned from Earth to save Eternia from the clutches of the cackling, weirdly muscular Skeletor.

Idris Elba elevates scene after scene as Duncan/Man at Arms, the tough talking softie who mentored young Adam and has become a bit of a lush in his absence.

Leto’s adequate. But Knight articulates his henchmen (Trap Jaw, Beast Man, Goat Man) well with a good practical/CGI mix.

The tone is the thing. Masters of the Universe is both playful and self-serious. This doesn’t always work cinematically, but there’s tenderness for the franchise baked into the film. And certain things require a bit of ribbing. Fisto? Seriously?

The good natured humor is not enough to entirely salvage the movie. Indeed, it makes you realize anew how remarkable Barbie was for its lack of cynicism and endless insight. But we may never again see a film quite like Barbie, especially if men keep deciding who makes movies. As Orko might have helped us see at the end of an episode, Masters of the Universe is no masterpiece, but sometimes it’s OK to have fun. And the movie is OK.

Stay tuned for three post-credits scenes. Number one will thrill fans, while two and three tease future installments. Bye for now!

Honky Tonk Blues

Carolina Caroline

by Hope Madden

Bourbon soaked and steamy, Carolina Caroline spins a modern Bonnie & Clyde tale with brains, sexual chemistry and emotional impact.

Samara Weaving is Caroline Daniels, stocking shelves and cleaning bathrooms at a two-pump filling station in an ambiguously timestamped, uncertainly located small Texas town. In walks Oliver (Kyle Gallner). He’s not from around here. And she is the one thing Oliver cannot entirely predict.

Director Adam Rehmeier struck gold with this cast. Certainly, he knew Gallner’s capabilities going in, the actor having led his subversive yet adorable misfit romance Dinner in America in 2022. Gallner’s as reliably magnetic an actor as anyone working today, forever mining the outsider character for its humanity.

And Weaving is just a star, pure and simple. Impossible to look away from, charming and vulnerable, those enormous eyes taking everything in, the wheels always turning, in her hands, Caroline is no cliched country beauty.

Strong support from Jon Gries (so dear as Caroline’s dad) and Kyra Sedgewick (brutal!) keep you emotionally engaged.

After two top-tier comedies (Dinner in America and Snack Shack), it’s impressive to see Rehmeier show such instincts with sexier, heavier material. It would have been simple enough for him to coast on the chemistry between his leads, Jean-Philippe Bernier’s photography, and an impossibly on-point honky tonk score and still produce a film worth watching.  Although, there are times when that’s kind of what he does.

Writer Tom Dean (Charlie Harper) usually sidesteps cliché, even given the film’s worn-thin roadmap. We have heist machinations, romance, violence, laughs, family drama and more, none of it out of place or off putting. But maybe because of the skill Rehmeier shows in keeping this road picture intimate, when the script hits some obvious notes, they stand out.

But then Weaving moseys in and rescues the scene with unbridled charisma, and you’re back to enjoying yourself. For the film’s handful of rough patches, it would be a shame to miss Gallner and Weaving sizzle like this.

Give Yourself Over

Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror

by Hope Madden

I would like…if I may…to take you on a Strange Journey.

Linus O’Brien—son of Rocky Horror creator Richard O’Brien—directs a mash note by way of documentary about his dad’s other baby. For fans of the show and film, the documentary is a delightful accounting of the phenomenon that is Rocky Horror.

Strange Journey: The Story of Rocky Horror chronicles Richard O’Brien’s early plans for the stage show, his collaborators, its humble beginnings and its immediate success. And though the spine of the film is a sequential history from stage to screen, box office bomb to midnight monster, the flesh on those bones is tender and tasty.

O’Brien the elder is raw and emotional, but like everyone else in the film, brimming with joy over the film’s lasting impact. He strums out some greatest hits, in fine voice for 83! O’Brien the director flanks the homey footage of his father with interview pieces from everyone you hope to see.

Tim Curry (a scientist), Susan Sarandon (slut), Barry Bostwick (asshole), Patricia Quinn (a domestic), Nell Campbell (a groupie), and Peter Hinwood (a creation) all have fun and funny tales to tell. It is especially dear to hear how in awe everyone was of Curry, undeniably iconic in the lead role. And listening to both Quinn and Campbell note their shock at Meatloaf’s voice is a kick.

Film producer Lou Adler and director Jim Sharman shed some light on the maneuvering that went on to keep O’Brien’s vision pure. As the doc kicks into its third act, both O’Briens are keen to shift focus to fans.

Richard O’Brien created, for himself firstly and luckily for the rest of us, a film that celebrates the weirdo, that revels in gender and sexual fluidity, that disdains the status quo. He created a raucous, glittery space where people could stop pretending to be ordinary and could indulge in their own beautiful uniqueness.

At the film’s end, Richard O’Brien tells us that Rocky Horror isn’t his at all. It belongs to all of us. Strange Journey is essential viewing for all of us too.

Subterranean Homesick Blues

Backrooms

by Hope Madden

There is reason to compare Backrooms, feature debut from 19-year-old co-writer/director Kane Parsons, to Skinamarink, the 2022 feature debut from writer/director Kyle Edward Ball. If you are one of the many who found Ball’s nightmare an effective, even terrifying head trip, Backrooms might be for you.

If you didn’t, that’s OK too. Backrooms shares the true experiential nature—you may feel as though the director has somehow filmed your actual nightmares. But a lot more happens in this one.

Backrooms is liminal space horror, not entirely unlike Genki Kawamura’s effective video game adaptation, Exit 8. But for all these comparisons, Parsons crafts an unnervingly unique excursion into the uncanny.

Captain of that voyage is Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor). He manages a furniture store where he dresses like a pirate for low-fi ads. It’s 1990. Clark wanted to be an architect. He just keeps making the same mistakes, like a circuit he follows forever expecting a different destination. That’s why he sees Dr. Mary Krane (Renate Reinsve).

Let’s pause, because that’s reason enough to see the movie. Here are two actors who’ve built careers on understated, natural performances that ground every moment onscreen in something honest. Which makes them a magnificent choice for a film where nothing makes sense, and that’s the whole point.

Kane adapts a series of shorts that made him a YouTube force, all of it based on online Twenty-teens creepypasta dread of being trapped eternally in an endless, yellow, moistly carpeted maze of empty rooms with no hope of escape.

The fact that Parsons turned this concept into a compelling feature essentially about our own labyrinthine minds and psychiatry’s impotence is pretty impressive for a fucking teenager!

Both leads give the film earnest vulnerability and obvious intelligence, which sells the madness. Their few scenes together are wonderful, but that’s not simply because of their talent. The script is engrossing, forever mirroring what’s been seen and said in a way that could feel heavy handed were it not for Kane’s sure direction.

It’s easy to make a trippy movie that doesn’t make sense because you don’t really have to make sense. A lot of bad horror leaves you guessing because of sloppy scripting. Backrooms never feels sloppy. Every tee shirt, piece of furniture, neighborhood street feels intentional, tells its own story. Everything loops, remembers but doesn’t, until you can’t shake the dread that nothing is right.

Backrooms, because it’s so singular in its vision, won’t sit with everyone. But for those of us who have nightmares of being trapped in room after windowless room of fluorescent buzz and mildew smell, this is our Skinamarink. I mean that in the best way possible.